


Under Starlight

by HarrysHook



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Enchanted Forest AU, F/M, Musicals, Soulmate AU, The Enchanted Forest, musical AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:52:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3760477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarrysHook/pseuds/HarrysHook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mist Haven has been placed under a curse, centuries old, that prevents voices from singing and fingers from playing music. The only way to break such a curse, of course, is True Love. Princess Emma has given up searching for such a thing, but a friend from the past returns with hope he can change her mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost Love

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to Lana (skypeopleandswans on tumblr) for being my rock and helping me sort out this huge project and letting me destroy her emotions with sad headcanons. I love you, you nerd.

The castle had always been alive with music. Ever since she could remember, Emma had listened to her mother’s soft voice hum mindlessly as they walked through the halls or strolled through the garden. There was an electric air about her as she sang, beautiful songs that held magic on every word.

She remembered being six and sitting on her father’s lap while he played his piano in their grand ballroom, singing soft melodies to her about how he met her mother, and how he’d fought tooth and nail to make her fall for him.

She remembered being ten and trying to sing to the tune of a familiar song at one of their beloved balls. The words had caught in her throat, choking her, causing her to cough horribly in front of the dancing guests. Tears had welled in her eyes, her parents quickly ushering her into the grand hall to explain.

It wasn’t possible for her to sing. A curse had been placed over the land long, long ago that forbade music. Of course, breaking any curse only required one thing: true love. Emma had to find her true love to join in the song and dance of her parents and their guests.

So when her father sat her down at 13 and told her they were planning to marry her to a naval captain to solidify an alliance for the war against the Evil Queen, she readily accepted. It was time for her to meet her true love.

She remembered the night she met _him._

Emma had been wearing a silver dress, a less dramatic and showy reflection of her dear mother’s. She’d been 16 at the time, with rosy cheeks and a naive smile as she stood gracefully next to her father’s throne, her hands clasped nervously over his.

“Presenting, Captain Liam Jones of the royal navy!” Grumpy had announced, as the grand mahogany doors of the throne room were thrust open. Captain Jones walked with a regal grace fit for a prince, not a lowly naval captain. His coat was dark, ocean blue to match his eyes and the tight curls of his brown hair were a mop atop his head. He spoke from a lightly bearded jaw, though he was not much older than twenty, and with a gentle, calming lilt,

“Your Majesties, your Highness. It is my honour to be graced with your council. Might I introduce my younger brother, Lieutenant Killian Jones.”

A boy, similar in age to herself, who had trudged along behind him bowed. They had the same eyes, like they were drowning in the sea, and the same lopsided, nervous grin, “Your Majesties, your Highness.”

Emma felt the rush of blood to her cheeks when they both turned to smile at her, and she diverted her eyes to her father rising to greet them. He was speaking, but she’d not been paying attention; too focused on how the younger brother, Killian, still tried to catch her gaze. She let him and a blush chased his smile.

“Lady Emma,” Her name snapped Emma from her trance and brought her attention to the speaker, her father, “Will you show Captain Jones to his chambers?”

Butterflies flitted in her stomach and her breathing hitched but she nodded, willing her suddenly heavy feet to approach him. The Captain was nearly a foot taller than herself, but he dipped his head all the same.

“Captain-” She greeted, but he lifted a hand,

“Please, call me Liam, your Highness.” He offered his elbow and she hooked it with her fingers, leading him through a grand doorway to the rest of the castle. 

“Alright, Liam,” She smiled at the name, squeezing his arm slightly, “But you have to call me Emma.”

He leaned his head closer to hers and chuckled softly in her ear, flares of excitement shooting through her, “It’s a deal.”

She had escorted him the rest of the way in silence, and when she turned to leave him, the kiss he pressed to her knuckles in farewell had the princess tumbling head over heels in adoration. The grin on her face won over her guards as they stepped aside to allow her into the private gardens. It was a peaceful place, complete with a small pond and an old apple tree that still bore fruit; her favourite place in the castle to be by herself.

Yet she didn’t feel alone today; the stars just beginning to wake watched as she tried her singing voice once more. No sound came but she’d not been distraught as before. She had hope it would take time, that Liam would be her True Love. She’d felt it in the way her heart clenched at the thought of the handsome captain and in the soreness of her cheeks when she finally stopped smiling so widely, the cause the sound of grass crunching underfoot behind her.

Stepping behind a wide, limestone bench, Emma peered into the gathering darkness, “Hello?”

“Apologies, my lady,” A voice called, timid and thick with accent that rolled her chest into knots, “I hope I didn’t frighten you.” 

“Lieutenant Jones,” She sighed in relief when she recognized the boy, clutching his ridiculously large cocked hat to his chest, “no, not at all.”

“I was hoping to have a word with you, if I may.”

“Of course.” Emma shuffled her skirts so she could sit on the bench, offering the empty space to the young Lieutenant. He’d hesitated a moment, twisting the fabric of his hat between his fingers and chewing his bottom lip before he sat next to her, “Is everything to your liking here?”

“Y- yes, my lady, the King and Queen are very kind.” He paused to take a shaky breath, and she placed a hand over his own to calm him. Their eyes locked and he nodded, relaxing under her touch, “It’s yourself and my brother, my lady. I understand that being arranged into marriage so young can… prevent certain fated encounters.”

Emma was silent, listening to this boy voice her own fears. Heartbeats felt like years while he searched her eyes, waiting for her to speak but growing anxiously impatient.

“At risk of offending your Highness, I fear he might never meet his true love.”

She gave a soft smile at that, “You haven’t offended me. You’re worried about your brother. I think that’s sweet.” His face brightened a bit and she ducked her head to hide the blush creeping up her cheekbones, “I must confess that I have the same worries.”

“May I ask why you agreed, then?” His thick eyebrows knit in confusion under his bangs.

The question had thrown her off guard and she sat, wide eyes at him, "I don't know." Why had she been so ready to accept the arranged marriage? To a man she'd not even met yet no less, "I suppose I have hope he'll be the one."

"Apologies, your Highness."

"Please, Lieutenant, Emma is fine."

"Killian." He flashed a wolfish grin at her and caught her fingers in his, placing a chaste kiss to her knuckles. Emma's heart danced to unheard music in her chest and a shiver crawled up her spine.

“May I ask why your brother accepted?” It was her turn to be nervous, but even in the dim light she could see the boy’s face turn red.

“Liam….can be stubborn,” Mouth twisting into a frown, he hurried on console that fact, “but he’s loyal, above everything else. We just had each other growing up, and when we found work, it was in our Queen’s castle. She and her sister took care of us, and he’s always been hell-bent on repaying that debt.”

They’d found themselves sitting closer as he finished speaking, shoulders brushing and fingers inches from each other. She felt so at home listening to him talk, so relaxed and warm that she missed it when he stopped and scratched awkwardly at his right earlobe.

“You must have all sorts of stories,” She mumbled curiously, “From servant boys to Navy commanders?” Killian began to chuckle, but was cut short by a distant shout.

“Your Highness, Lieutenant, dinner is being served.” Her knave called from the doorway. Hesitantly they stood and walked in comfortable silence to the dining hall. Liam awaited her outside the doors and for the first time in a long while Emma felt happy.

The days followed similarly; she spent her days with Liam whenever and wherever he was available and her evenings with Killian in the garden hearing tales of their youth as street rats and navy recruits.

She gathered that they loved the sea just as much as they loved each other, and eagerly invited her to visit their ship, the Jewel of the Realm, whenever the crew could spare it. It definitely was not the most impressive in the fleet they'd sailed to her kingdom, but they insisted she was the fastest in all the realms. The sparkle in Liam's eyes when he ran his palm over the wooden railings made it difficult to argue.

His quarters slowly became her favourite place, sifting through their treasures and maps of distant lands. Killian joined them occasionally and Emma watched in delight as the brothers would argue over the details of a tale or begin laughing so hard neither could finish the story.

Within the week they felt like family. Within the next, they felt like home. As the stars danced in the skies each night Emma dreamed about marrying Liam and raising little princes and princesses. Of sailing on the open sea, his arms wrapped protectively around her as she'd peer into the murky depths below. Of her stolen voice chiming merrily around the castle.

On the fortnight, Liam surprised her by taking his brother's place in the garden. He sat on the limestone bench, teeth buried into the flesh of a ripe apple and smiled sweetly at her when she sat, dimples in his cheeks peeking at her from under his scruff.

"I thought I'd teach you the stars." He grinned, sliding a golden lock of hair behind her ear. She shivered and tucked under his arm and watched as he traced constellations with his fingers, mumbling the names softly in her ear and occasionally a little fact.

"Leo." she watched his grin as he drew a hook and pointed rectangle in the air. Emma frowned,

"Why is it named after a lion when it looks like a swan?"

Liam grinned at her, a chuckle trapped on his lips, "That's what I always say!" His eyes wrinkled in the corners when he laughed and she couldn't help but smile. His gaze flashed down to her lips and Emma could feel her heart knocking at her ribs. They lingered there a moment, breathing audible in their proximity, until he leaned forward and kissed her.

Lightning flooded her system and her heart faltered until she found her fingers tangling themselves in his dark curls. Lips sliding together, hands desperately trying to pull each other closer; if this was what magic felt like it was worth the wait.

They burst apart, chests heaving, lips sore, when a shout summoned him.

"I will return soon, my love." Liam murmured, sending her stomach alight. She held on to the promise, but the moon was rising in the sky and her eyes were growing heavy.

She'd nearly dozed off when a strange sound came to her ears. It was not unpleasant, far from so; it reminded her of her younger years when her mother would braid her hair, humming softly as she worked. It was then Emma's chest clenched and she gasped for breath that she realised it was her.

 _She_ was humming. By the gods she was _humming_. Tears sprung to her eyes and she laughed breathlessly.

"Emma?"

She turned, expecting to see Liam, but found Killian instead, standing in full uniform. Too excited to notice, she rushed to his side, hurriedly clutching her skirts as to not fall,

"Killian! I've great news!" He stopped her with a raise of his hand and his sad, sea blue eyes, "What's the matter?"

"Emma, our fleet has been called back home. We are needed to return to the war."

A gasp tumbled from her lips, "What?"

"We are to leave at dawn. Please, you must come say goodbye to Liam then." She could see tears flooding his lower eyelids much like her own. It was all she could do to nod and whisper, "Of course."

And she did, escorted by her knave to the docks just before dawn’s light. The crews were hard at work, tying rope, carrying large wooden boxes, polishing the rust from chains and other various metal objects, all shouting commands at one another.

Killian spotted her first while surveying a group of men cleaning the deck of the Jewel. His cocked hat was too big, and Emma had to suppress a laugh as he clutched it when he hurried to meet her.

“You came!” He grinned after placing a chaste kiss to her cheek. She blushed at the sweet gesture.

“Emma!” Liam called from the wheel, waving for her to come up. She rushed to his arms, throwing her own around his neck. Clutching her tightly to his chest, he sighed into her shoulder, “I thought I wouldn’t get to say goodbye.”

“Why do you have to go? We haven’t been wed yet.” Emma sobbed into his coat, tears threatening to spill.

“Don’t worry,” He murmured kissing her lightly, “I will return for you soon, my love.”

“Captain, we really have to go.” A large, mustachioed man with a bald head gruffed from across the ship. Killian reached for her hand, and she took it hesitantly, turning back to Liam for a moment,

“I love you.”

The captain’s face was stoic in the presence of his crew, but his blue eyes shone softly in the morning sun, 

“I know.”

“Goodbye, your Highness.” Killian smiled as he hugged her on the gangplank, “Don’t miss us too much.”

She laughed through the tear sliding down her cheek, “Fare well, Lieutenant.”

He nodded and she heard Liam shout to raise anchor. The sky turned milky blue as the small fleet turned into the wide ocean. Killian waving goodbye from the back of the Jewel would be the last she’d see of that ship, and the brothers on board.

It took a fortnight of waiting, pining alone on the bench in the garden, for her to hear any news of their travels. It came attached to a dove’s leg, a small scroll of parchment;

_The Lady Emma,_

_My love, I am writing to assure you the Jewel and all aboard made it home safely. I do not know when I will be able to write again, as the Evil Queen’s fleet is approaching faster and larger than previously hoped. But know that I am anticipating the day I will hold you in my arms again._

_\- Much love, L.Jones_

It would be barely a week before she’d get the news. Her father, rushing into her chambers, only to freeze when she looked up, sadness creeping into his eyes.

She knew then. She knew something had happened. Her father had listened to her hum sweet melodies in the past month, the smile on his lips growing wider. But it was gone as he stood speechless in her doorway.

“I’m sorry, Emma.” He began, voice choking, “Captain Jones’ fleet was struck down. There are no recorded survivors. I’m so sorry.” He gathered her in his arms, squeezing her until she cried into his chest.

With each tear, her throat felt emptier, and each sob, so did her chest, until she felt nothing. Until she was nothing. Her true love was gone, and she was alone yet again.


	2. The Fall

**Part One**

Life since Liam only got worse for Emma.

Two years later, she met a dashing bastard prince from Locksley, outlawed by his tyrant father. Baelfire had been smitten with her the moment he’d strolled into their throne room, seeking refuge and a spare ship to flee their bordering lands. She could see it in the way his hazel eyes searched hers, lips curling just at the edges.

He caught her arm that night outside the dining hall, his touch gentle but urgent.

“Emma.” He smiled, informal in a way she wasn’t used to, “I don’t believe we had a proper introduction. I’m Baelfire.”

The words on his lips were different, almost sing-song and it made her heartbeat slow. He placed a kiss on the back of her hand but all she felt was Liam’s lips. All she heard was the gentle hum that would have been Liam’s.

No, this was wrong. He was not her Liam and he would never be. No one would ever be.

Without a word, Emma pulled her hand away and took her seat next to her father. She lifted her chin, sitting taller, steeling herself against the puzzled looks flying her way.

Baelfire had found her again that night, outside her garden, his smile brighter despite her earlier rejection, “Your Highness, a word?”

“I’m sorry, I can not.”

“Fair enough, my apologies.” He gave a half-bow and she countered with a half-smile. He had manners for a bastard, she had to give him that.

The next morning, he confessed to her while she stood on the arm of her father at the docks that he planned to find his true love on his journey, and perhaps such a thing would convince his father to stop hunting his head.

“With your permission, Sire, if I am not successful, I’d like to return within the year to pursue the Lady Emma.” She’d blushed and smiled when her father agreed, and for a moment thought maybe she could learn to love again.

It took only three months for his father’s huntsmen to find and dispose of him.

Emma steeled herself against the world.

Short of eight years went by, every suitor rejected. She was growing older; still young but not as desired by the older lords of the realm, who sought women to bare them sons and nothing more. They just returned her like a lame dog, unsatisfied with a princess that couldn’t produce what they desired.

The squires fawned over her beauty, but when she looked into their adoring eyes, she saw nothing. Her voice would sing for none of these men.

But one day, a foreign voice drifted down the halls, a love song for her ears only. She had rushed from her room, sleepy eyes searching her garden for her love, for Liam, and her pulse quickened when she glimpsed dark curls and scruff shifting toward her. Yet his eyes were not the stormy blue she remembered, they were grey like the fur of a wolf and dug into her soul with sharp fangs.

He was a huntsman, a turncoat from the Evil Queen’s army, that was resting at the castle. She’d found him handsome and his thick accent endearing when they had met, his eyes lighting when he told her his name was Graham.

He paused his song to profess his love for her; she leaned into his kiss with a hunger for love. She thought maybe she could learn to love again.

The next morning Graham was found lifeless in his bed by means of dark magic.

And here she is, two years later, still loveless, still hopeless.

Emma’s parents had all but given up on her and produced a newborn baby boy; a dashing prince that would no doubt one day fill the walls with song. He’d only been born a fortnight ago, but he already had the castle wrapped around his little fingers.

“Is a three-night ball to honour a baby really necessary?” Emma had groaned the day before while her handmaidens squeezed her into one of her dresses for the event.

She could just hear her father’s chuckle from behind the screen, “We had one for you.”

“But is it necessary?” She sucked in a deep breath while the corset was tugged around her ribs, “Can’t you just announce his name at the feast and everyone leave?” She stepped around the screen, fists filled with fabric as she faced her father. He gasped and smiled (like he’d done with the other three dresses) and mumbled ‘beautiful’ when he took her shoulders in his hands.

“The ball isn’t just for the baby, Emma.” He confessed, dismissing her handmaidens.

“What?”

“We really must find you a husband.” She shivered at his words, her heart sinking,

“Father I-”

“It’s not up for discussion, Emma.”

Her father storming out the door, his violet cloak swirling around him, lingered in her mind that night while she sat defiantly on her bed, arms crossed. She could hear the guests gathering in the nearby dining hall, but her stomach churned when she thought about joining them.

“My lady, please, allow me to fetch your handmaidens..” Her knave sighed from beside the door.

“No, Will, you must stay with me, please. I trust you.” The boy had been at her side before she’d even been promised to Liam. He understood her unwillingness to attend the feast, but she saw the uncertainty flicker in his big eyes.

Eventually he sighed again, “Then listen to me as a friend, would ya?” He moved to sit beside her, bed dipping under his weight, “They’ll surely notice the princess is missing from a royal feast. Now you know I bloody hate every one of them, but it’s better to go willingly than be dragged kickin’ and screamin’, believe me.”

She smiled and nudged his shoulder with her own, “I guess.”

“Should I get your handmaidens then?”

“Yes, but tell them not to hurry.”

“Of course.” Will grinned and hurried out her door, leaving the room eerily silent. Emma stood with a long sigh and wandered to her balcony, which overlooked her garden. The breeze that carried off the sea calmed her tensed nerves.

 **Part Two**  
This was bloody ridiculous. The rum was shit, the service in this stinking tavern was shit, the castle that loomed over the town was shit. 

The only thing remotely interesting to the pirate captain was the caravans of royals parading along the long bridge to the castle. Even in his drunken state, he counted them from the rickety roof of the tavern; one, two, five, ten, twelve in total, given there were none waiting inside. The white sails of their ships outlined the coast in the dying sun, fanning the castle in the sea breeze.

The captain’s own ship sat a bit off, no room for the former war vessel to squeeze along the docks, a lonely reminder of his mission; loot whatever he possibly could. It wasn’t every day royals flocked together so willingly. He’d bet he could snatch the crown jewels single-handedly. An amused chuckle fell from his lips at his own pun; his fingers drew over the cold steel of the hook that replaced his left hand, an amputation from a battle injury in his youth.

Sighing and chugging the last of his horribly watered-down rum, the captain slid haphazardously down the straw and wood roof and tumbled into the bushes below. Cursing the thorns that stuck in his dark hair and leather coat, he hobbled along the dark edge of the bridge, slinking against the cool castle walls with surprising grace in his drunken state.

He huddled against the walls, stumbling occasionally on the uneven terrain until he came to an unlit, out of sight column of stone. He climbed with ease, slim frame yet strong muscles helping him ascend swift and agile, long coat billowing behind him like a cape.

His descent, however, had not been well-planned, and the captain quickly lost his footing, sliding precariously down the stone and into the garden below. He barely glimpsed the fair-haired women as his helpless body fell past her and landed half in the murky pond. His temple struck a thick, pointed branch on a fallen tree at the water’s edge, sending his vision black.

**Part Three**

It happened so suddenly Emma barely had time to scream before the man splashed into the pond below her balcony, his head striking the broken half of her apple tree and his body morbidly still. Paying no mind to her nightgown, she rushed through the halls, pushing past her handmaidens just arriving at her door and down the stairs to the garden. No guards stood outside to help; they’d all be helping at the feast.

The feast she was supposed to be at. _Fuck._

But she could see the man lying helplessly now and she knew she could not leave him there. He could be dead for all she knew.

Picking up the loose fabric at her ankles, Emma rushed to his side, sighing in relief that she could still see his chest rising and falling while he breathed. Despite his many layers of leather, he left most buttons undone and she could clearly see his hair-dusted breast underneath.

Looping her arms under his, she struggled to haul his lower half out of the pond, his leathers weighing him down tremendously and no wonder he’s fallen under all that weight, especially with the stench of alcohol on his breath. She cared to avoid the strange hook that attached at his left wrist, noticing the tip was visibly sharpened.

Finally, Emma managed to get him onto the grass, with only the heels of his boots still resting in the water. Her hands immediately flew to his head, pushing the dark curls of his hair to the side to find the source of the blood running around his ear. A long scar stretched the length of his left temple, but it wasn’t deep, much to her relief. 

Suddenly the muscles in his throat began to twitch, spurting a guttural sound. Frowning, Emma cupped his cheek and tilted his head sideways; his body heaved twice before he vomited. She scrambled back as he pushed his head back into the grass, coughing and groaning, wiping the corners of his mouth with his right hand. His eyes flickered open and caught sight of her, stealing her breath away.

 _Blue_ ; bluer than the sea on a cloudless day. Unbroken in colour and deeper than the oceans themselves. So... _familiar._

_Liam._

No, his hair was a shade too dark, the stubble lining his jaw and lips too thin and ruddy. His thick eyebrows danced in confusion as he struggled to recognize her as well. Like a forgotten dream in the past; a memory faded with broken hearts.

“Emma?” His accent was thick, making her heart pound. His voice was deeper than before, but she’d recognize her name on those lips anywhere,

“Killian?”


	3. Of The Waltz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a better experience right-click the [>] symbol in the text, open in a new tab, and continue reading.

**Part One**

Gods, he must be drunk out of his mind. A bad barrel of rum, perhaps; maybe he’d got a bit of rat poison in his cup because that was the only explanation for the woman standing over him, all emerald eyes and golden hair like a memory faded into a dream.

“Emma?...” Her name found his lips in the haze and he knew it was true. He didn’t know how, but the princess had her fingers in his hair and her brow wrinkled in concern and his name on her tongue and maybe it was the bad rum but just for a moment his heart sang.

A sharp pain in his temple cut short his high and made him squeeze his eyes shut, fingers finding the burning gash, “Bloody cuntfucker.”

He heard her gasp at his harsh curse, pulling her hand from his head and he groaned at the loss.

“Apologies, my lady.” Killian smirked, opening one eye to make sure she’d not run off.

“You’re hurt, we must get you inside.” She grabbed his over-sized collar and tried to pull him to his feet, but the sudden movement sent his head reeling and his gut churning.

“Slow down, your Highness,” He groaned, prying her fingers from his coat, “I’ve got it.” Placing his hand on her shoulder, he let her walk him into the castle, the rum in his system making him struggle to keep his steps in time with hers.

"My lady?" The concerned, accented voice of her man servant rang through the hall but she quickly shushed him, pushing open the doors to a large bedroom. Hers, he guessed from the line of dresses on the end of the bed.

She shoved them to the floor before lightly pushing him into their place. The fabrics under the captain were soft and he sank into them, moaning as his spine cracked blissfully. 

"Will, get me that washcloth." The boy obeyed, bringing her a white cloth wadded up and dripping with water from a bowl in the corner of the room.

Killian winced when she wiped it against the cut on his head, and down around his ear,

"I'll be alright, my lady..." He chuckled weakly, distracted by how closely she hovered over him. The crease in her brow still remained and he struggled against the urge to rub it away with his thumb.

“You’re drunk and you hit your head,” She said sternly, focusing on cleaning away the blood, “You must rest.”

That was the last thing he remembered before he jolted awake, heavy fabric striking him in the face. He jumped, pushing the clothing off him in a panic, his temple pounding. Killian lifted his hand, fingering the tender flesh gently; the cut burned under his touch but was dry to his relief.

“You will wear those tonight.” Emma said beside him. Blinking against the bright dawn light, he looked up at her,

“What?”

“You can’t walk around looking like… a _pirate_.” She spat the word with disdain, hands balled into fists, and he winced,

“Have I upset you, my lady?”

“I thought you were _dead!_ ” She yelled, tears in her red-rimmed eyes. She thrice brought a fist down hard on his chest, and the captain coughed, the air knocked from his lungs.

“Emma…” He gasped, trying to reach for her as she turned her back. She yanked her hand away, hissing under her breath,

“You will _not_ address me informally.” The pirate sank back into the pillows, “You _abandoned_ me.”

“I didn-”

“ **Stop**. I’m not done talking,” She growled, striking him again on the jaw. Killian tried to back away, but her gaze paralyzed him into the sheets, “How could you just _leave_ me? Is Liam even gone?”

The captain felt his heart squeeze in his chest, the memory of his brother’s fleet sinking into the flaming ocean vivid behind his eyelids, squeezed shut, “Yes..” voice merely a whisper, he looked away from her welling eyes.

“At least one of you were honest.” 

“You don’t understand.” He mumbled, fist clenching around the blankets. There was darkness picking the back of his mind, raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck, but he forced it away. Now was not the time. 

“I understand perfectly.” She mumbled, and ignored the shake of his head, “You will wear those. And when the guests gather in the ballroom tonight, you will get on your ship, and you will leave this kingdom.”

“Em- Your Highness, ple-”  
But she was already gone, slamming the door closed behind her. An empty feeling ached hard in his chest, the same one he’d felt when he’d left her the first time.

No, not left. What had she said? _Abandoned._

The word lingered in the back of his mind and he knew it to be true. After Liam was killed and- no, he didn’t want to think about that. It was true, he could have come for her. But would it have still been too late? Would she have still felt abandoned?

It was Liam she was worried about, so perhaps she would have accepted his tale. She didn’t care as much for him, that was clear, and understandable. She believed Liam to be her true love, she’d confessed it to him in her garden.

What Killian never confessed was how hard _he’d_ fallen for her.

He knew it was true now. He could feel a strange vibration in his throat, humming, as he recalled their meetings in their youth. He recalled his panic one morning when he’d awoken to the sound, and was frightened Liam had heard.

Yet, his eyes drifted to the royal clothing piled on top of him, and he felt empty. A simple black shirt and waistcoat with a tanned coat under a tall collar. He wondered if she’d stolen them from another guest. However they came to be crumpled atop him, it was because she didn’t want to see him again.

No; he wasn’t going to leave. He wasn’t going to abandon her again.

**Part Two**

Emma spent the rest of the day avoiding her room. She made good to greet the guests she had neglected the day before and smiled sweetly throughout their ramblings during meals and when they caught her in the halls. She sat mostly at her father’s side, hands clasped around his quietly as she was supposed to.

For the first time in her life she didn’t want to escape this, for being alone with her thoughts would break her heart, she knew.

How could he have done that? How could he have left her alone to grieve while he was fine, living life as a _pirate._

Her father had told her about him, “Captain Hook”, a one-handed former navy captain gone AWOL. He’d spent the past few years terrorizing the fishing villages and looting their keeps, and it could only be assumed he’d done the same to other kingdoms.

She hadn’t wanted to believe it was Liam, in fact she knew deep down in her heart it wasn’t. She was right, of course, but Killian? The sweet-faced boy who stuttered when he was nervous and had a lopsided smile could never be a pirate.

Maybe she didn’t know him as well as she’d hoped.

The sun was dipping into the horizon and she tried to push those thoughts away. She called for her handmaidens to dress her in one of the unoccupied rooms, so as to not confront the pirate resting in her bed. The room had been reserved for a ‘Prince Charles’, but he’d not made it for the feast the night prior.

She’d never been so grateful that a man couldn’t be bothered to send tribute.

It didn’t take as long as she’d hoped to squeeze her into the scarlet corset and position her matching skirts so she could walk. Her slippers were sold white to match her feathered cloak that draped around her shoulders. Her hair had just been finished being braided around her head with swan feathers slid in between when Will came to retrieve her for the ball.

“You look lovely, my lady.” He smiled as he handed her off to her father, who waited outside the ballroom.

“Make sure he’s gone,” She reminded him under her breath before smiling and saying louder, “Thank you, Will.”

Her knave nodded and hurried back around the corner; she took her father’s elbow and set on her ‘princess’ smile. The music was already loud enough to hear through the doors and it made her broken heart sting.

The guards pushed open the door and she followed her father inside; cheery, royal faces turned to them, singing praises for the king and his princess. They were lying, she knew. There were no suitors here for her.

When they reached the center of the room, however, a man slid from the crowd, stopping boldly in front of them. His lopsided grin was garish, and with his dark hair slicked back and facial hair trimmed down, he was almost unrecognizable. But those sea blue eyes locked with hers and her heart sank.

“Your Majesty, may I have the honour of dancing with your beautiful daughter?”

Surely her father would recognize his lilting accent and ask him to leave. Or notice he wasn’t at the feast the night before; maybe arrest him.

Alas, her father smiled and nodded, releasing her hand from his arm. She took a deep breath and took Killian’s arm instead, squeezing it hard enough she hoped he felt it. He ushered her to the edge of the area where couples were already dancing. Something she indeed could not do.

“Stop.” She hissed under her breath and he did, turning to look at her in confusion, “What are doing?”

His answering grin shot unwelcome warmth through her chest, and she struggled to push it away,

“Well I’m _trying_ to dance with a beautiful princess.” 

Emma could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, “Why aren’t you gone?”

“I couldn’t let you dance with one of these old blokes now, could I?” His laugh was sweet, and she found she couldn’t be mad at him. But she was mad that she wasn’t mad and she stoked that flame.

He could see it in her eyes; she was still weary of him, but the flame burned out when he leaned into her ear and whispered, “Try something new, darling. It’s called trust.”

[**[ >]**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrleydRwWms)

She hadn’t noticed the song had changed, but the dancers were moving to find partners to waltz. She groaned, “I can’t...”

His grin turned into a soft, knowing smile and he nodded, “It’s easy once you get the hang of it, my lady.”

She hadn’t noticed before, but his hook was replaced by a fake hand, wood covered in a leather glove, she felt when he used it to lead her into the center of the dance floor. A gasp escaped her as he slipped his hand to the small of her back and thrust their bodies closer, close enough for her to hear;

He was humming.

“Killian…” She gasped, but was quieted as song tumbled from his lips.

_“I had a thought, dear, however scary, about that night, the bugs and the dirt._  
Why were you digging?  
What did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the earth? 

_“I will not ask you where you came from.  
I will not ask and neither should you._

_“Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips.  
We should just kiss like real people do.”_

She stared starstruck at him, grinning so wide his cheeks were red. He spun her around him, pulling their bodies flush again when her feet hit the floor to a hard beat. She wanted to tell him he shouldn’t be singing to her like this, but she didn’t want him to stop. Should he stop?

_“I knew that look dear, eyes always seeking._  
Was there in someone that dug long ago.  
So I will not ask you why you were creeping.  
In some sad way I already know. 

_“So I will not ask you where you came from.  
I would not ask and neither would you._

_“Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips.  
We should just kiss like real people do.”_

He was so close, his spellbinding blue eyes flicking between her own and her lips, his tongue darting along his between breaths.

And Gods she could already taste the sparks on his tongue and she was drunk from it. They weren’t even bothering with the dance now, merely swaying back and forth. Her fingers played gently with the hairs at the nape of his neck and his squeezed the small of her back ever so slightly.

“Killian, I-”

_“I could not ask you where you came from.  
I could not ask and neither could you._

_“Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips.  
We could just kiss like real people do.”_

Sighing softly, Emma leaned up on her toes and pressed a gentle kiss to the dark bruise shading the edge of his jaw, then to the corner of his mouth. Her heart thudded hard when she withdrew, the sensation lasting on her lips. The music slowed gradually to her relief, and he gazed at her in shock. He’d not expected her to actually kiss him.

“Why did you do that?” She mumbled eventually, her cheeks bright crimson like her dress.

Killian blinked twice, taking a moment to understand her question before shrugging, “I couldn’t stop it. It’s like magic.”

She swallowed “When did you-” _Meet your true love_ , “Learn how to do that?”

He paused, and Emma could see the uncertainty in his eyes as he whispered, “Last night.”

She swallowed hard, lost for words. The world around them dimmed, and the only thing she saw was him, his sapphire gaze locked to hers, full of regret, an unspoken apology. He hadn’t wanted to leave her. Maybe he didn’t have a choice. But he was here now and this was real. That song was for her.

“May I interrupt?” Her father grinned, suddenly close and they snapped apart, the world rushing back into view dizzyingly quick.

“Of course, your Majesty.” Killian smiled breathlessly, offering Emma’s hand back to her father. She whispered a goodbye to the pirate; words tangled in her throat the second she thought about telling the king who he was. He pulled her into the next dance as the floor made room for them, but it was too difficult to focus.

“Who was that man?” That was not the conversation starter she’d hoped for.

“Um...Prince...Charles.” Emma found, hoping her father hadn’t noticed the real prince’s absence. He seemed to buy it, smiling widely and spinning her in his arms. As she turned, she caught those blue eyes once more, among the crowd watching the King and princess dance. They seemed sorrowful, apologetic, and when he noticed she’d seen, he dropped them and turned away.

Her heart sank.


	4. Vindicated

**Part One**

_Pirate._

The word echoed in his ears that night as Killian trudged back to his ship, ringing in the same disgusted manor the princess had sneered at him that morning. It started when he’d watched her dance with her father; the king and his princess at their own ball. One he wasn’t invited to, and he never would be again. It was a different world, one he had left. He couldn’t go back, but he had to try.

The ship was quiet when he boarded, the crew probably asleep awaiting his return with riches. Empty-handed aside from the fine clothes from the ball slung over his arm, he knew they would be disappointed. Disappointing pirates was never a good idea and this tale of finding his true love would not be looked upon fondly.

Descending into his quarters, Killian produced a small safe from a drawer at the bottom of his desk. Pulling his hook from it’s place in his leather coat, he yanked with his teeth at the screw until it made a loud snap and sprang loose. Once removed, a key rested at the base, a match to the lock on the strongbox. The click of the tumblers were deafening in the tense silence.

He’d not faced the items in this safe for quite some time, all reminders of the evil he’d done since becoming a pirate. Killian had always wondered if he could call himself that. Pirates work for themselves, take what they want for themselves and don’t care about anyone else.

Yet, Killian's heart had always been big. He grieved every day for his brother, unable to sleep for the nightmares of that fateful day.

When he’d watched his brother’s fleet sinking into the ocean in flames, his own smaller fleet under cannon fire, he remembered the sword slicing clean through his wrist. He remembered the knife at his throat and the kick of a boot between his shoulder blades, toppling him over the splintering rails.

Killian had managed to grip a floating plank with his remaining hand, but the pain in his other caused him to blackout. If he didn’t die from blood loss, the mermaids surely would have come for him.

Yet he'd woken on the cold stone ground of a cavern, a man with silver-blue eyes and grizzled black hair combing over his dying form. Blood still leaking from his stump arm, the man took him farther into the alcove, a cave sliced into a marine cliff side. He had a doctor perform surgery on his wrist in the gloom, had him looked after with guards when he seized with pain in the night and following day.

Killian didn’t know how long he’d been there; days, weeks perhaps, but however long it was, he was well cared for and well fed. When he was strong enough to stand and walk and speak, the man returned with an icy ultimatum.

Work for him, as he had just saved his life, or be left in the water to die.

When he’d taken the deal, Killian hadn’t expected to be forced into slaving, piracy and other horrors the box he rifled through reminded him he’d committed, but that is what Blackbeard had expected of him. The ruthless Commodore had a fleet of pirates at his disposal, selling slaves, reaping villages and digging up treasure-laden tombs.

His crew captured what was left of the Jewel of the Realm and repaired her in the time Killian had been recovering, painting her bright navy parts pitch black and renaming her “The Jolly Roger”.

Blackbeard had given him the ship, a ‘gift’, claiming he was the only one that could captain such a vessel. With his new crew he was tasked to commit evils and sins only a mind full of rum allowed him the ability to carry out. He turned to the bottle, learning to sword fight effectively though his legs wobbled and his vision blurred.

He became cold, uncaring, and it was easier. That time shrouded the objects at the tips of his fingers. He found a small sea shell near the bottom, the purest white and humming with magic.

He was no longer the ruthless, heartless man he was when he'd stolen it. It was time to return it to it's owner.

Stuffing the shell in his coat pocket, he locked and placed the safe back in it's rightful spot of being hidden from the world. As silent as possible, Killian tried to hurry on deck and back into town, but he wasn't unnoticed.

His first mate, Smee, blocked his path to the gangplank, the portly man's arms folded and mouth twisted in a frown,

"Captain, what is going on?"

Swallowing nervously, Killian side-stepped the shorter man, "I've something to collect in town, Smee. Get back to sleep."

"How did it go at the castle? We were worried when you didn't return."

"We shall see when I've returned." He shot his mate a wink and the stumpy man seemed to buy the facade, scurrying below deck.

Sighing through his nose, the captain stole into town, ducking behind the lanterns that lined the cobbled roads lest someone sees him.

He'd not been there in months, but Killian remembered the private beach that was his destination nearby down the coast, sheltered by tall cliffs jutting into the sea.

By the time he crested a crag overlooking the bay, the horizon was turning rosy, his hair clung to his sweaty forehead and his right hand was scratched and bleeding from climbing the sharp stones.

A hut rested on stilts at the edge of the waves, a single lantern lit just inside the window facing him. Unable to rest at the sign of life, the captain trudged down the cliff. The descent was more stable this time without rum controlling his limbs, despite his heart racing as he knocked on the door.

A woman answered, her red hair wet and her pale skin tinged with pink from the cold sea air.

"Hello, Ariel..." He puffed, leaning on the door frame for support.

Her eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open as she recognised him, fear and disdain mixing in her sea-coloured eyes. The woman made to shut the door in his face, but Killian slammed the tip of his hook into the wood, pushing it open, “Please, just hear me ou-”

She cut him off with a flat palm connecting with his cheek. The flesh stung and the force of the slap sent him off-balance, clutching the doorframe to not fall back,

“You are an evil man. I don’t want to hear any more of your lies.”

“I have something of yours!” Killian pleaded, Shoving his way inside before she slammed the door on him. Desperately fishing the shell from his pocket, he held it up to her, and the woman’s jaw slacked in shock.

“I don’t understand…” She murmured as he took her hand and clasped her shaking fingers around it, “This is…”

“Your voice.” He nodded, remembering the night he stole it from her, “I’m sorry for what I did.”

“My true love was marooned on an island because I couldn’t use my voice.” She accused, tears in her eyes.

He felt his own bubbling to the surface when she mentioned her true love, “You’re a mermaid, I- I needed to clear the way for my crew to travel these waters.”

“Was a mermaid. Without my voice I’m nothing.” The broken look in her eyes seared through his chest, forcing his gaze to drop.

"I'm sorry-"

"You're lucky I'm the forgiving type, Killian Jones." Despite the shake in her voice, he picked up on the warning and tried a smile,

"That I am."

"You better leave before I change my mind."

As Killian raced out of the hut and over the ridge, the air electrified, making his skin shiver with the magic emitting from the hut. He turned back as he crested the crag, and listened to the soft sound of her voice curling around the bay.

What he did was good.

He hung onto that faith the entire way back to his ship as he knew his crew would be angry. They had never been mutinous before, but there was always a first time for everything.

They all set to lazy work when he lingered on the gangplank, tying ropes or scrubbing the deck between conversations. Killian stepped on board with a loud snap from his boots and they turned their attention to him at once. They all looked so hopeful...

Killian swallowed the lie in his throat and sighed, his chest aching with the deep breath that followed,

"I have news, men. Maybe good, maybe bad-"

"Where's the stuff from the castle?" One of the older men cut in, causing murmurs to rise from the crowd gathering around him. Forcing confidence, Killian walked to the center, fist clenched and trembling.

“I’m afraid I’ve failed.” The shocked silence was worse than the anger he had expected.

“What do you mean?” The same man, a large fellow with a thin moustache and bald head, asked, pushing his way to the front.

“This place- This castle… was the last place I was before the battle where Blackbeard found me. Inside is my true love…” The angry whispers started, causing panic to rise in the captain’s chest, “I- I can’t steal from her family. They were too kind to me…”

“You’ve fallen in love with a princess?” A boy with unruly black hair asked, fire in his voice.

“Aye, I’m afraid it’s true.”

“Blackbeard won’t be happy…”

“Might even kill ya.” Another interjected, followed by agreement from the crowd

It was Killian’s turn to be angry, “Fuck Blackbeard,” silence again, “I’m serious! He cursed us all to a life of evil! No more! I’m staying here. I will repent for my sins under that man. You are welcome to stay, but if you are still devoted to that.. that _shark_ you can catch the next ship out of here.”

His words hung heavy in the air for a long moment, his crew exchanging glances. Some were angry, most were wide with shock, but all were afraid. Their Captain had just declared himself AWOL; they’d all be punished.

“You must be softer in the skull than I thought.” The first man gruffed, his face steeled in uncertainty. Inhaling through his nose, Killian stepped up to the man, looking into his grey eyes as he sneered,

“Then get off my ship.”

“Aye, _Captain._ ” He spat the word in utter disdain, but followed the command, many of the younger crew members following him over the gangplank. The silence they left chilled him, and Killian raked his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.

“Well men,” He began, turning to the skeleton crew that remained, “We’ve got work to do.” They turned back to their duties without a word, leaving him sighing on deck. The melancholy settled in before he reached his quarters, the gravity of his decision resting more pressure on his shoulders with each step.

Not only had he doomed himself to be hunted for eternity by Blackbeard himself, but he’d sentenced his crew to death. And probably Emma and her family. Damn it. Frustrated, he plopped himself onto his bed, slinging an arm over his eyes to block out the afternoon sun painting brilliant squares on the wall above him.

**Part Two**

The sky was a brilliant rose colour as the sun set, complementing the lords and ladies’ excited faces as they paraded down the docks and into the palace carriages. Killian watched from the railing of the Jolly, legs swinging above the gentle waves. There was a warm sea breeze coming off the bay, and he’d discarded his heavy leather coat and waistcoat. Fiddling now with the buttons of his black shirt, he let the loose material cool him. He still wore a troubled frown from earlier in the day, but the hum of his men and natural music of the working people had his spirits high.

Watching a gull squawk and circle overhead, the captain was unaware as a man approached his ship, dressed in rags too large for his thin frame.

“Killian Jones?”

He started at his name, wary of not being called Hook, or Captain, “Can I help you?”

Killian recognised him vaguely as if it had been a lifetime since he last met this lad. He wondered if he’d stolen something of his and kept it stowed on the ship.

“I am here on behalf of Lady Emma.”

Clamouring to his feet, Killian leapt onto the gangplank in excitement, “She has sent for me?”

“W-well n-no sir…” The knave dropped his head, twisting his hat in shaking hands. Killian’s heart stopped.

“Then why has she sent you here?”

The boy shook his head, “I am here on my own.” They both hesitated, Killian unsure what to do. The sounds of the dock hummed in their silence, the loud clang of a blacksmith, the creaking ropes, the deckhands scrubbing the wooden boards. Eventually the boy broke the quiet, stepping closing to speak in a low whisper,

“Sir, I think you shouldn’t come to the ball tonight.”

Shocked, Killian swallowed and attempted to compose himself, “Y-you think I should what?”

The boy sighed, “Look, Emma has given up on love, done so a long time ago. I seen her when she’s with you. She’s only gonna get hurt again, especially when you’re a pirate-”

There was that word again, _pirate._ The disdain boiled in the captain’s blood and he set his jaw, standing up straighter as a dog would to make itself more intimidating. It worked; the servant shuddered away from him. As much as Killian wanted to strike him for insulting him on his own ship, he stopped himself, relaxing his fist and his shoulders.

“I’m not as bad as everyone seems to think.”

“My apologies if I don’t believe you.” _Calm down, Killian._ The noise of the docks pounded in his skull as he closed his eyes, letting the sounds swirl together and create a melody. He hummed, letting the electric vibrations spread through his body until he felt like he was floating. When he opened his eyes, the boy was looking at him, confused. Behind him, one of the carriages parked along the road, waiting. The door was open as he left it, and he could see her. Emma sat in a grey gown, hands folded, pointedly not looking in their direction. Then it started.

[[>]](https://youtu.be/scd-uNNxgrU)

The fire in his throat, the insatiable need to scream, the sparks of magic fizzing on his tongue. His eyes watered with it, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. It overwhelmed him until his vision blurred and he had to sit down, legs dangling off the docks.

_I thought I saw the devil this morning,_

_Looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue._

_With a warning to help me see myself clearer._

_I never meant to start a fire._

_I never meant to make you bleed._

_I’ll be a better man today._

_I’ll be good, I’ll be good._

_And I’ll love the world like I should._

_Yeah, I’ll be good, I’ll be good._

_For all of the times that I never could._

The wooden boards creaked under him as the boy joined him, his head bowed. Killian could tell he listened, the guilt radiating off him. He turned to look at the reddening sky, painted with orange and scarlet clouds.

_My past has tasted bitter for years now,_

_So I wield an iron fist._

_Grace is just weakness, or so I’ve been told._

_I’ve been cold, I’ve been merciless._

_But the blood on my hands scares me to death._

_Maybe I’m waking up today._

_I’ll be good, I’ll be good._

_And I’ll love the world like I should._

_I’ll be good, I’ll be good._

_I’ll be good, I’ll be good._

_For all of the light I shut off._

_For all of the innocent things that I doubt._

_For all the bruises I caused and the tears._

_For all the things that I’ve done all these years._

_For all the sparks that I stomped out,_

_For all the perfect things that I doubt._

_I’ll be good, I’ll be good._

_And I’ll love the world like I should._

_Yeah, I’ll be good, I’ll be good,_

_For all of the times I never could._

As the music faded and the breeze swelled to ruffle his hair, Killian turned back to look at the boy. His eyes were large in proportion to his face, and the sadness made him appear the child he’d known before leaving with Liam.

“Will!” They heard Emma call from the road, both jolting to their feet.

“I’m sorry.” The knave whispered as he rushed back to the carriage.

**Part Three**

Just the sight of ships made her feel sick. Emma couldn’t tell if the pounding in her stomach was from disgust or amazement at the song he’d sung in her ear the night before, but when she thought about it there was a horrible scratching in her throat. By the time the evening’s feast was over, her head ached horribly.

She’d wanted to go to the ball tonight, get her mind off it. A near excitement to distract herself bubbled in her chest when her handmaidens tied her up in her gown. Yet the headache returned with each step she made toward the ballroom.

Taking a deep sigh, Emma turned back and headed for her bed, eager to sleep off the pain. Will stood guard outside her door, his eyes wide with shock when she turned the corner, “Milady?”

“I’ve got a horrible head pain, I may just go to sleep. Will, please give my father my apologies.” She shoved past him, speaking over his protests, and slammed the door.

The pounding ache subsided when she sat at the edge of her bed, rubbing tight circles at her temples. Flopping back against the pillows, she frowned when something bumped her ear. She grabbed and inspected the object curiously as she sat up; an apple from her garden, unripe but still large and heavy. Confused, she looked around the room for any other clue and startled when she noticed his silhouette on her balcony.

“Hello, Emma.”


End file.
